


Imagine the World as You’d Like It to Be

by dragonspell



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e16 Doomworld, M/M, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: “This world can be whatever we want it to be, Mick.”  Len’s close now, close enough for his fingers reach out and gently touch Mick’s chest.  He taps along Mick’s shirt before flattening more fully against it.  Mick’s breath hitches and his own hand slaps over Len’s, keeping them both in place as his heart beats painfully underneath.  “We don’t have the Spear, but we can still take whatever we want.  You want to rob a bank?  We will.  Steal something priceless?  Sure.”  Len moves closer still, until Mick can feel the heat from his body only inches away.  “What do you want, Mick?” Leonard asks, his voice no more than a whisper.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goddesstio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddesstio/gifts).



> I believe that I promised Coldwave reunion porn.

Imagine the world as you’d like it to be, the speedster had said. That’s the easy part. A year ago, hell a few months ago, Mick would have asked for smoke and ash and a world on fire but now he’s been shown that there is something in the world he needs besides its destruction. Mick needs Leonard Snart standing at his side again, smirking, alive, filling in the part of Mick’s soul that’s gone missing. That’s the world that Mick wants to live in. He doesn’t care about the rest.

Wish granted.

The damned Spear spins them around and around like the Wizard of Oz and Mick wishes he could just have the ruby slippers because if he’s learned nothing from Rip’s failed quest, there’s no place like home.

The others, though, they’d all had a few more _ideas_ about how this all should work. Merlin, he’s not half bad, wanting mostly what Mick wanted, though tossing in a few fringe benefits. It’s Darhk and the damn speedster that has Mick’s teeth on edge. Darhk had wanted his criminal empire—as the fucking mayor no less—and a goddamned hit squad staring Blondie and Amaya, like a fucked-up Charlie’s Angels. That made Mick feel bad. Sara and Amaya deserve better. Same with the professor and Haircut and, hell, even Jax. The kid had never been meant to be that mean. 

The speedster, he’s like Darhk. He’s never content with his lot in the world, always has to find a way to make it better. Stopping the thing hunting him through time for being too stupid to know that he was dead wasn’t enough. No, instead, he had to join in the fun to make sure that everyone got crappy jobs so that he could laugh at them. Release all these little bits of future tech and pretend to save the world to make people love him even though he’s the one who’s been tightening his iron fist. He kept the Spear, too, for a little bit of insurance. Mick would like to see him burn.

Mick wants nothing to do with any of the Legion. He’d like to see them _all_ burn. Everyone except for Len.

Len, he’s an interesting case. The Len that had sacrificed himself might have made different choices, really thrown Mick for a loop, but the guy that had been next to Mick while they stood around that damned spear hadn’t exactly been a stranger. Mick knows him, inside and out, has known him, for a long damn time. Mick had been so sure that he’d be able to guess what Len wanted—and for the most part, he’d been right. The bank-robbing thing, that’s expected in just about any life. Owning half the damn city, sure, why not? Len’s always liked money. Why not have more of it? Mick’s right with him there.

Of course, that makes him the boss of, like, everything, which is weird. Mick hasn’t quite figured out what this means for the aforementioned bank robbing, but he supposes that Len has a plan. Len’s always got a plan. And, hey, the offices are pretty nice, give Len an in on all sorts of things, so Mick sort of gets it.

What surprises Mick, though, is the house. He hadn’t seen the house coming. The Spear had spit them out into a new world, dumping them like Dorothy from her tornado and he and Len had landed in the center of a large room, standing like they’d been there all along with hardwood floors beneath them, a crystal chandelier hanging above their heads and a fancy door behind them. “The hell?” Mick mutters, spinning around. He stares into the various rooms that shoot off in nearly all directions, peeking his head around Len as he stays put because he doesn’t want to go too far. 

There’s something about the house that seems familiar but he can’t quite place it. Just an eerie feeling of déjà-vu smacking him upside the head telling him that he _should_ remember. Mick’s been in so many buildings in his life, though, broken into so many fancy mansions, that they all seem the same to him. Nothing particularly stands out.

“This will do nicely,” Len says beside him with his usual smirk and Mick’s eyes come back to Len. Since the moment that he stepped up to Len’s side on that battlefield, Mick hasn’t looked away for very long. He’s afraid that Len might disappear if he does.

Len looks positively pleased with himself, like he’s pulled off another big heist right under everyone’s noses. “We here to rob the place?” Mick asks, his hand already reaching for the gun that’s strapped to his thigh before he realizes that Len’s not touching his own which is as sure a sign as any that the weapons aren’t required. He aborts the movement and fumbles for Len’s sleeve, giving in to the urge to keep a line between them. Len glances down at where they’re now connected and allows it with a shrug.

Len’s always been a bit hit and miss with the touchy-feely stuff, but, then again, Mick has been too. The fact that Len’s not freaking out about Mick having a damn near constant need to touch him lately speaks volumes about Len’s understanding of the whole fucked-up mess that they’re in. Mick’s grateful for Len’s intuitiveness and hopes that it continues, because Mick doesn’t exactly understand it himself, but he can’t make himself stop. He’s got to keep making sure that Len is real.

“Rob it?” Len says. “Mick, we live here.” He smirks at Mick—so fucking familiar, it might as well be a punch in the face—and flips his hand up to catch Mick’s, twining their fingers together. For a moment, Mick forgets to breathe. “Or at least we do now. Besides,” Leonard says as he pulls away to head for the staircase that winds its way upstairs to an overlooking balcony, “we’ve already robbed it once.”

Well, that’s just friggin’ weird. Mick stares after Len, wondering if his ears are working correctly here in Oz, or if maybe the Spear-induced Twister had damaged them, hit by a cow or something. His brain spins out and stalls even as his body instinctively moves forward to follow Len, not wanting there to be too much space between them at the moment. Maybe someday Mick will be okay with letting Len wander off on his own like he used to, but right now, Len’s going to be lucky if Mick lets him go to the bathroom without Mick tagging along.

Len’s words keep circling in Mick’s brain as his hand grips the stairway rail. He glances at the pictures on the wall and stops mid-step, foot still in the air when he realizes that they’re pictures of him and Len. Pictures of their _life_. Together. Like that was something that they had, something that they could even do. There’s Len smiling while holding up a diploma—a fucking _diploma_ —Mick grinning beside him, arms wrapped around Len in a bear hug while Lisa strikes something cute on the other side. And, fuck, yeah, that’s Lisa attending her own goddamned graduation—and, Jesus, what trophy is that that she’s holding up over her head? Mick stumbles as his foot misses the next stair. He catches himself on the rail but not before he pitches forward first. 

Len leans back around the corner, to shoot a concerned frown at Mick. “You okay there, Mick?”

“Uh…” Mick glances up at Len, then the surreal wall of pictures and back down to the stairs. They feel fucking real enough, even if the rest of this seems like one big trip to Dream Land. Hazards of fucking with reality itself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He pushes himself upright and starts himself moving again. Len shrugs and heads down the hall.

Mick reaches the top of the staircase and looks left towards where Len went, then right, then left again. He’s got that feeling again that he’s been here before, that he should _know_ this place. And, hell, it’s got to mean something. Len put them here for a reason—either that or he created it out of his goddamned mind, which is kind of scary in itself. How much planning had gone into a damn _house_? There are pictures on the wall for Christ’s sake.

The first two doors on the left are closed, but the third is wide open, light spilling out. Mick’s drawn to it like a moth, following the bit of pale gold streaming down the hallway like it’s his own personal Yellow Brick Road. He pauses at the threshold to the room, his palm resting on the door jamb as he peers inside. 

On the right, a dresser takes up one side of the wall before the wall curves into a bank of windows and then a balcony. The floor-length curtains billow gently in the breeze. They’re gauzy and airy, a light haze of white that makes the room look like a fairytale, like a waking dream.

“What do you think?” Speaking of a waking dream…

Mick swings his attention back around to the rest of the room, taking in the king-sized bed with its plush blue sheets, spilling over with pillows. Len stands beside it, his arms stretched out as if to encompass the whole of the room that they’re standing in, the house, the dream that Len’s constructed. 

“It’s…” Mick looks down at his boots, feeling like maybe he should have taken them off at the door downstairs because it’s just that kind of house. “It’s nice, Lenny.”

Len’s smirk morphs into an actual smile. “Yeah,” he says. He spins, taking in the room, and then comes back to Mick. At Mick’s blank look, Len’s head tilts, his smile slowly fading. “Don’t worry,” Len tells him quietly. “It’s not all like this. Or, it doesn’t have to be.” Len takes one more look around the room and then moves towards Mick, his steps slow and deliberate like he’s trying his best not to spook Mick. The act doesn’t work. Len looks like a panther stalking its prey and Mick’s heart speeds up with each step that Len takes. 

“This world can be whatever we want it to be, Mick.” Len’s close now, close enough for his fingers reach out and gently touch Mick’s chest. He taps along Mick’s shirt before flattening more fully against it. Mick’s breath hitches and his own hand slaps over Len’s, keeping them both in place as his heart beats painfully underneath. “We don’t have the Spear, but we can still take whatever we want. You want to rob a bank? We will. Steal something priceless? Sure.” Len moves closer still, until Mick can feel the heat from his body only inches away. “What do you want, Mick?” Leonard asks, his voice no more than a whisper.

“Nothing,” Mick rasps. How could he want anything when he’s finally got Len back, standing here in front of him, touching Mick because he’s real. He’s fucking real—no hallucination, no figment of Mick’s deranged imagination, no fucking manifestation of his damn guilt, whatever the fuck that means—but _real_.

Leonard tilts his head to the side again, his eyes steady on Mick’s. “Nothing?” he repeats softly.

Mick groans, low and guttural, and lunges forward, his arms wrapping around Len’s shoulders as his lips seal over Len’s. He forces Len backward, walking him across the room. One of Len’s hands flattens against the side of Mick’s face, thumb pressing underneath his jaw and fingers curling over his ear. Len’s lips move against Mick’s, kissing back, not fighting Mick’s hold, and a knife wound of sheer emotion stabs into Mick’s lower gut. Fuck, yes, Mick thinks. Please. Please let him have this. Please let this be real. No more nightmares, no more head games, just Len, back for good. Mick will do anything, be anything, give anything as long as he can have Len back permanently. 

Len breaks away, turning his face, and Mick tries to follow, but Len chuckles and presses Mick backward with the hand that’s trapped against Mick’s chest. “If that’s what you want,” Len says with a grin, his voice low and breathless, “then that can definitely be arranged.” He leans forward and gently sinks his teeth into Mick’s lower lip, pulling it forward before letting it snap back into place. Mick’s cock throbs in his jeans. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Mick’s eyes flutter closed as Len forces his head to the side and wet lips descend upon Mick’s neck, sucking kisses until they reach his ear where they turn into teeth that bite at the fleshy lobe. Mick groans and stumbles to the side as his knees try to buckle before he forces them straight. How many times has Mick relived moments like these? Visited them in the early morning hours between bottles of booze? Except this is too vivid to be a dream, too visceral, too goddamned _real_. Len frees his trapped hand and drags it along Mick’s hip, playing at the waistband of his jeans, dipping underneath the band to run over Mick’s already overheated skin. Mick bucks forward, rubbing himself against Len as his arms tighten even more, pressing against Len’s solid body just to reassure himself of Len’s presence again.

“Easy, Mick,” Len whispers and Mick’s grip relaxes a fraction, though he doesn’t want to. Len pulls at the bottom of Mick’s shirt. “You should take this off.” Mick ignores the suggestion. To take off his shirt, he’d have to let go of Len and that’s just not something that he is willing to do. A rumble starts in his chest and he brings his head back down, eyes opening again to see Len’s familiar face—blue eyes, soft lips, the mole on his temple. Everything just as Mick remembers.

He scoops Len up, arms locking underneath Len’s ass as he takes them both to the bed. Len gasps, the only indication of his shock, but doesn’t fight. He looks down at Mick from his slightly elevated height and smiles, his legs obligingly coming up on either side of Mick to help lock him into place. _Sure_ , he seems to say. When Mick sets him down on the bed, Len goes willing, sprawling backward, and Mick follows him down. Mick kisses Len’s cheek, his nose, his jaw, before coming back up and claiming his mouth again.

The kiss starts out raw and hungry and goes downhill from there, each moment only making Mick want more, to go deeper, harder, until he is the only thing Len knows. Len’s easy acceptance morphs into a small struggle and jabs his knee into Mick’s side. In an instant, Mick finds himself flat on his back with Len rising over him. Mick sits up, desperate to taste Len again, but Len shoves him back down. “We’ll need to do something about this,” Len says. He leans to the side, reaching for the nightstand.

 _About what?_ Mick’s more rational side wonders even as the thought dies beneath the ocean of need currently flooding Mick’s higher brain functions. His hands rake up Len’s sides, rucking up Len’s sweater to get to the bare skin underneath and his legs reposition to give himself better leverage. Len lets him, groaning softly as Mick thumbs a nipple.  
Mick rolls his hips in a circle, rubbing his trapped cock against the curve of Len’s ass and can’t stop the next few thrusts upward. So much of this is out of his control, too wrapped up in his need for Len and it’s like trying to hold dam up a river with only a few sticks and a handful of mud. Too much is escaping, trickling out, threatening to wash away any hope that Mick has of controlling himself at all.

It’s not until the length of silk wraps around Mick’s wrist that Mick figures out Len’s plan and by then, it’s too late. Len tightens the restraint around Mick’s wrist, pinning his arm down against the bed.

“Come on,” Mick growls, straining against the makeshift cuff. His fingers clench and he pulls but it holds firm, digs the fingers of his free hand under the silk restraint which gets him nowhere.

Len smirks, his hands sliding under Mick’s shirt and pushing it up to his armpits to bare his chest. “Just helping you keep control of yourself, Mick,” Len says. He settles himself back on top of Mick, grinding his ass against Mick’s cock again. Mick’s free hand flies to Len’s hip, thumb digging into Len’s groin as he tries to hold on.

“Fuck,” Mick rumbles, tossing his head back against the bed. “Fuck…”

“I think that I’d better take the lead on this one, what do you say?” Mick arches up into Len, heels digging into the bed. Len takes that as his answer. He chuckles and runs his fingers over the ridges of Mick’s scars, leans down and maps them with his lips. Mick can’t feel it, not really, just an echo of a sensation, but the idea of it nearly drives him out of his mind. This is Len accepting the real Mick, scars and past be damned. Mick whimpers, weak and breathy, as he gives himself over to Len’s control. The silken cuff on his wrist lets him do it, frees him to do what he needs to rather than what he should. 

Len runs his tongue over Mick’s chest, long licks that have Mick panting. He pulls at the cuff that holds him down and doesn’t care about the noise that he makes, the groans and grunts and whines that voice his desperation. “It’s been awhile for me too,” Len confesses. Mick’s brow furls, his eyes fluttering open. Len shifts on top of him, moving downward. “It’s been seven months for me since we’ve called it off. I missed this.” Hands grip Mick’s thighs, sliding over the top of them, and Len presses a kiss just above the band of Mick’s jeans. “I missed _you_.”

A surge of emotions strangles Mick’s heart, catching it up in a vice grip and threatening to squeeze the life out of it. “Len…”

Len surges upward and presses his lips to Mick’s. They both shudder, breath mingling, then Len deepens the kiss, his tongue flicking out to lick at Mick’s lips, slip between them. The bed rocks beneath them as Len shifts, knees digging in on either side of Mick. Mick brings his free hand back up to cup Len’s face, holding him steady as he tries to tell Len all the things that he doesn’t have the words to say. He’s never been able to say it, has denied he’s ever felt it, but he needs Len to know. 

The button on Mick’s jeans springs loose, freed by Mick’s long fingers, and the zipper rasps on its way down. Len reaches between the open flaps and runs a smooth, practiced hand over Mick’s cock. Inhaling sharply, Mick bucks into the touch. “Easy,” Len whispers, his lips brushing over Mick’s cheek. “Easy, Mick.”

Mick want to tell him that there is no such thing as easy right now, not when Mick feels like he’s about to go off like a nuclear bomb and take half the of the known world with him, but tight, wet heat slips around the head of his cock and Mick forgets how to speak.

Above him, Len’s eyes slide shut and his brows draw downward as his mouth opens in a slow gasp for air. Mick stares at Len’s face, memorizing every movement, every twitch as Len sinks himself down onto Mick’s cock. The practice of years makes it seem so easy, Len just accepting him, and Len takes a deep breath as he settles back down on Mick’s hips, sitting upright. His fingers curl against Mick’s chest and his head tilts back as he takes a moment to re-accustom himself to the feel of Mick being inside of him. 

Mick is reminded of just how damn beautiful Len is. He’s never forgotten, just stowed it away, but having Len right here with him again brings it all back out. Years fly through Mick’s mind, memories swirling together in a stream that becomes a river that becomes a flood. Mick can’t look at the man in front of him, on top of him, without remembering everything that’s come before. Thirty years of emotions drags Mick under and drowns him.

Nothing compares to this, Mick thinks. _Imagine the world as you’d like it to be_. This, right here, is how Mick wants the world to be. This is all he needs.

Len starts to move, little circles to test his range of movement that have Mick’s eyes rolling back into his head. Mick slides his hand over Len’s thigh, stroking the muscle with his fingers, encouraging Len to move some more, take them both to the edge of bliss. Len listens to Mick’s wordless plea, his thigh bunching beneath Mick’s hand as he lifts himself upward, letting Mick slide out of the tight warmth of his body and then bringing himself back down. He repeats the process and soon, Mick joins with his rhythm, thrusting upward to meet Len. Together, they edge towards the cliff.

Mick comes first, body spasming as pleasure ripples through his nerves. His toes curl as his bound hand wraps tightly around the restraint, using it to ground himself. Above him, Len makes a pleased sound and settles, Mick’s cock still pulsing inside of him. With a few quick strokes, he brings himself off, panting at the ceiling as he shudders on top of Mick, his come splattering onto Mick’s stomach. When he’s done, his shoulders heave with a few more deep breaths before he hums and stretches.

“Forgot how big you are,” Len says. He hisses as he lifts himself up one last time, letting Mick slip free. Sliding off of Mick to kneel on the bed, he smiles. “Feel better?” he asks.

Mick expels a burst of air. He’s still half afraid that Len will up and disappear on him, unsure if he made the right choice back on the battlefield, and confident that he doesn’t want to be part of something called “the Legion of Doom” but he’s sated and spent and Len’s smiling down at him, so overall… “Yeah.”

“Good.” Len pulls on a section of Mick’s cuff and the whole thing slithers free. Mick rubs his newly freed wrist.

“How’d you do that?”

Len snickers softly and tosses the silk away. “You know I can’t be giving away all of my secrets. What’s life without a little mystery?” 

Mick rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He’ll let Len keep his little secret. It’s not like Mick overly cares about it anyway. What he does care about is that Len’s getting to his feet. Mick catches him, wrapping his fingers around Len’s wrist. “Where are you going?”

“The shower,” Len replies, staring at Mick and tilting his head like he’s trying to figure out Mick’s deal which is fair. Mick’s aware that he’s been acting pretty strange lately, but it’s not every day that your dead partner comes waltzing back into your life. Mick doesn’t exactly have a frame of reference for this. He just knows that Len’s going to have to put up with it because for the time being, Mick’s not going to get any better. 

“I’m coming with you.”

Len blinks. Yep. Weird. “Okay.”

It’s the bathroom that finally gives Mick a clue about where he’s seen this house before. A bathtub takes up nearly a quarter of the room and Mick knows that tub. He’s been in that tub before. He’s been in this _house_ before—years and entire lives ago. He and Len had picked the place clean over the course of a week while the owners were gone. The pictures have changed, the décor’s been switched around but it’s the same house, only now here it is in this new reality, sitting like a memory brought back to life. 

Mick turns to look at Len who only shrugs. “It was a nice house,” Len says as he starts to draw water. The déjà vu hits Mick again, but this time he knows why. When Len steps into the tub, Mick follows him in, unintentionally recreating a scene from twenty years ago. Mick knows that on another person’s scale of the bizarre, this might rate a bit high but for him, it’s barely even a blip on the radar.

Weird is starting to become Mick’s new normal.

Len leans back against Mick’s chest with a sigh, hands resting on Mick’s legs. “This is nice.” Mick grunts in agreement, because, yeah, it kind of is. He hasn’t had a bath since before 2016; he’d forgotten what it was like to not have to carefully ration out water and time or use that freaky beam of light that Hunter insisted was a shower. Water splashes as Len lifts his hand to gently trail a few fingers over Mick’s cheek. “We could rob a bank after this,” Len says. “What do you say?”

Mick shrugs. “Sure.” That sounds like something that they should do. Maybe this world won’t be so bad after all, Mick thinks. Sure Blondie and the rest deserve better, but they aren’t doing too bad all things considered and everyone seems pretty settled into their lives. Mick’s got Len back and they’re picking back up from where they left off, even if it is rewinding history a little for Mick. A few more memories, a few more scars, it doesn’t really matter.

 _Imagine the world as you’d like it to be,_ the speedster had said. Mick had. His world is Leonard Snart. He can’t imagine anything else.


End file.
